#Slay the Princess fanfiction

[msfcatlover]

The Dancer

Slay the Princess route where you insist there has to be a key, convince the Narrator to let you go back upstairs to retrieve the knife, and manage to escape the cabin to search outside of the window, where you find it half-buried in the garden. The Narrator tries everything to make you drop the key or give up the idea, every step back down into the basement is a different form of agony, before you finally drop to your knees at the Princess’s side (mid cardiac arrest) and unlock her cuff.

The Princess is delighted. She grabs her unshackled wrist with a brilliant smile, leaps to her feet and dances about the basement, revealing in her freedom. Then, suddenly, she realizes how bad off you are, and that joy melts away into panic as she tries to figure out a way to save you the same way you saved her.

She can’t, of course. You’re out of breath, wheezing, and can’t manage more than a single word before your heart finally gives out. Everything goes dark, and you die.

The Princess you meet in Chapter Two is a little bit ditzy, a bubbly attitude, and is already free. She has tiny fairy wings, thin antennae on either side of a crown of morning glories, ribbon-y ballet slippers (not proper pointe shoes, probably), and her dress is modeled after old-school ballerinas. You know, with the floofy bell skirts Edgar Degas so loved to paint.

(And here’s some lovely fairy ballerinas in somewhat similar dresses)

She’s protective & worried, and already out of her chains when you arrive. She cries out in joy when she hears you coming down the stairs and races over to meet you, giving the Narrator one hell of a fright. Because the last thing you saw was her staying in the cabin to try to save you, she prioritizes your health over her own freedom, fussing over you. Her cabin is much cozier, with a basement that actually looks like a livable room, right down to a little fire with a cook pot simmering underneath the window.

If you choose to stay & share a meal with her, you will eventually nod off beside the Dancer, her fingers gently brushing your feathers.

The Narrator says you don’t know how long you slept, and you will never know. Because you never wake up. You shirked your duties, and slept straight through the end of the world.

Any other route will inevitably lead to you two escaping together. Unless you kill her, in which case you get the Burned Grey.

(“This one is revelry, but she is also grieving. She never thought anyone would care enough to help, but you sacrificed everything for her. She will make for an effervescent heart. Do not mourn her, for she has found the love she longed for.)

.

Chapter 3: The Dream The Dream’s skirt is longer, back to floor-length, but also formed of wispy layers of torn silk, making it look almost smokey. Her tiny butterfly antenna have become big, feathery moth-y ones, and her wings now drape down her back like a cape. Her eyes are solid black, but refract light enough to look more like large gems than holes in her face. When she smiles, her teeth are sharp.

She is syrupy sweet, just as caring as the Dancer, just as clingy as the Damsel. But there’s an edge to her now. Your last thought was, after all, likely wondering if she had tricked you, to try to trap you down here. She now cares more about holding you at her side than she cares about her freedom, and would happily keep you trapped in that basement with her for eternity if she thought it would keep you with her. Her innocence is more manipulative than genuine—she will not hesitate to whip out the tears or feign hurt in order to get her way, and her protective affection is now borderline smothering.

It’s easy to fall under the Dream’s sway, but like the Nightmare, she really just wants to mold you into what she wants most. It will take a good deal of trickery of your own to coax her out of the cabin, or else the Shifting Mound will take her around when she clasps chains on you, insisting it’s for the best & that you’ll thank her later.

(“This one is shelter & desperation. She knew only captivity and so sought it as a means to protect the only person who ever cared. Her vulnerability is real, but she coveted your company more than your health or happiness. She will make for a passionate heart. Do not mourn her, for she has found the love she longed for.)

.

No original voices, I think. The Dancer & Dream strike me as Smitten & Paranoid routes, respectively. They are (probably obviously) basically alternate versions of the Damsel & Nightmare, after all.

And you know, I think it’d be interesting to see Paranoid deal with a Princess who just seems nice until things start to ramp up.

[toadletthethird]

I wrote this oneshot some time ago, and due to the fact that I see more and more skeptunist in the feed (for which I couldn't be happier), I decided to share it. On the menu today: even more hand holding, attempts to outsmart each other in psychoanalysis and accidental confessions of attachment from people who say they never feel attached. So ahhh. Enjoy the show.

--------------------------------------

The warm light of the desk lamp illuminated the notebook under his hand, casting long shadows across the scattered papers. Neat stacks from earlier in the evening had surrendered to the chaos of ongoing work, a testament to the hours spent hunched over the table. Worn pencils lay discarded, empty coffee cups adding to the accumulating clutter. But this evening felt different from the many others that had preceded it. This time, there were two of them.

"Isn't the dawn coming soon?"

"And yet you're still here. For what it's worth, I can be here too."

Sometimes they exchanged short remarks. Sometimes they were just silent. But it seemed it was better than being alone.

The opportunist put his elbows on a table, propping up his chin. His hair was slightly uncombed, as if he had run his fingers through it too often, and the shirt was buttoned up out of order—he looked strangely messy for someone who usually spends so much effort to look tidy. His eyes aimlessly stared at the papers nearby. And smile when he talked—it appeared here and there like an old habit, something completely natural, but he made no effort to keep it. It stayed as a shallow shadow in the corners of the mouth.

"It’s impolite to stare like that, you know."

"Did I?"

"Obviously. You always do. Better not squint so much—you have crow's feet already. And get yourself normal glasses." He waved his hand, visibly unhappy with the insistent way he put it. "I mean. I could make an appointment for you. I'm really beneficial."

He felt how wrong it sounded. And, even worse, it was a clear bait for Skeptic to cling to.

"Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You look tired."

"It's night. How else do you want me to look?" He grinned like he was telling an obvious joke, but it was so out of place that it seemed even more artificial than usual. Both noticed it. He sighed and tilted his head lower in weariness.

Skeptic waited for a few seconds, planning to force him to add something else to the answer, but then, apparently from his own uncertainty, turned away back to his occupation. There was much to do. He could use a break from speculations too—at least one of them should be able to. But the sight of the opportunist suggested he was pondering something as gravely as the detective did. His gaze vacantly followed the movements on the paper. He wasn't reading it. Not even trying to. The opposite of how he used to cling to any clue around him in the next argument, always looking for new levers of pressure. There wasn’t a reason for him to stay now. And still, he was here.

"Hey, want a riddle?"

"Yes?"

"Can you hold my hand for a moment?"

Feeling his stare, the opportunist shrugged, "What I said. I mean, you can do that. Nothing difficult about it," he said as he threw out his arm.

"Why?"

"Don't overcomplicate it. You're here, I'm here, you can write with the other anyway. So, yes or no?"

Skeptic hesitated, probably trying to analyze the situation in these split seconds.

"It's a timed question. Just say no, and I'll leave."

He looked at him for a couple more seconds, trying to guess the intention, after which

He carefully placed his hand under his.

"I've noticed you avoided such contact. I assumed you don’t like it." His voice rose slightly in question. "Are you testing something out?"

"Yeah, well, sort of."

They both went silent, attentively looking at the point of connection. The warmth of the hand below felt unusual, but Opportunist could take it. It was a stable support. Dependable foundation. He tried to loosen up his tense fingers, but the sight of them touching veins on his backhand sent a fresh wave of unease through him. The way his wrist nervously froze didn't look much better. He only now realized how estranged he must appear. He wasn't just uncomfortable; he was shrinking, retreating into himself as if this simple physical contact posed a genuine threat. The strangeness of the situation somehow didn’t intervene with the unexpected gentleness of such a simple sign.

"Is it alright?"

Their eyes met. Furrowed brows compelled the vigilant expression he always had. A bit too strict. Too demanding of meaning. He always wanted to have more than he was given, in a way. They were similar in that. But he was also cautious. Even careful. Especially now.

"That's nothing."

Skeptic lowered his eyes once again. Opportunist's hands were always chilly and slightly clammy, as if it was a warning to everyone that he was a slippery type, someone with whom it should be unpleasant to cooperate from the start. He pushed these thoughts away. It would be wrong to judge from the first impression. Maybe, even from the ninth. Just to see if he would change or if this would be his last life, like a cat's. Skeptic gently stroked his knuckles with a thumb and instantly knew it grabbed his attention.

"Is it too much?"

"No, no. That's fine." His voice trembled for a second, but he hid it quickly.

Skeptic passed over his fingers. He couldn't help but compare it with his own. They were thin and pale against his tawny, rough skin, which was fitting for someone whose hands were ready to work. Someone who'd be ready to face cuts, splinters, and bruises if it was worth it. He wouldn't care enough to notice it, even more so to treat it properly, if not for the thought of how harsh it must feel now.

"You're up in the clouds again," He gave an archly half-smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"My hands are probably too hard."

"That's ridiculous. I wouldn't ask for it otherwise."

Skeptic gave him a quick, curious glance. Then he slowly brought his other hand up to his wrist, gently holding it by the forearm.

"I have a feeling this is what you want. An experiment for... self-reflection. Is it so?"

"Bingo, professor."It was as if he had tightened his grip for a second, still keeping the cheeky demeanor.

"It is an interesting phenomenon.” He leaned over with the interest of a gambling scientist who has discovered something incredibly new, automatically switching to his regular edifying voice. “You're quite tactile with others, but when shown a similar attitude, you seemed very distressed... You look scared. I wonder what the reason behind that is."

"No, I don't."

"Are you scared now?"

"No... I don't think I am."

Skeptic was terribly predictable. As much as the one with a plan must be. It always gave a little reassurance. Even if he were up to something, it would be easy to figure out, especially with the suspicion that was inherent in Opportunist. He knew that the second skeptic was given the opportunity to puzzle over his secrets; he would immediately drop everything—and that's exactly what happened now.

"I believe this is related due to some fundamental feature of the psyche, as it has moved to an unconscious level of reaction. Maybe it's from a core memory or repeated learned pattern." He looked up with a smile, "But I'm not an expert."

"You sure do sound professional."

"How can I not? Also, I believe it correlates directly to your habit of lying."

"I don't have a 'habit.'. Even if I do, it's a strategy. Moreover, to save us both when you keep getting into trouble."

"Don't get defensive so easily. I'm just stating the facts." His eyes sparkled with cruel curiosity. "This is an easy way to distance yourself from others in order to be protected from their influence. The truth provides a mechanism for real impact. You prefer to give false levers. So that no one can hurt you in the ways that matter. This gives you control over the situation—the feeling of it, at least. Am I digging right? I can see I am."

The opportunist's face twisted in discontent. The position of the arms also started to feel suffocating. He was no longer supporting but indifferently holding on, with his mind roving somewhere else. And his skin was harsh after all.

"...So you're avoiding any situation that would put you in a vulnerable position. Apparently, being touched is a clear representation of that. It can't be dodged. But only when you're not the one initiating it, I suppose."

Opportunists finally seized the pause. "Did you really just make that up?"

"No. I had time to think. Moving on, what is your goal here?"

"Huh?"

"You usually have a goal behind every action. I doubt you wanted the introspection that much. And it would be easier not to risk it with... this whole scenario. I generally don't like distractions. I know you're smarter than trying to flatter me with that—I'm not the affectionate type, obviously. What is it then?"

The opportunist started sorting through the options in his head. He could come up with some kind of plan that would be intriguing to figure out. Maybe it's a distraction. Or manipulation. Or some weird way to tell a secret. That would be an understandable reason. But thoughts were stumbling about about what he had just said, and about what answer would please him, and about his hands...

"I just wanted to see if it would feel nice." suddenly slipped out.

"Nice?"

He scowled again, clearly in disbelief. The opportunist felt his whole figure shrink, but it was too late to undo the words, to reclaim the lost ground. "It counts as a reason, right?" He couldn't help but nervously cling to his arm, seeking a small, desperate comfort.

He could practically feel Skeptic judging him, cataloging the pathetic misery of this entire poorly executed performance, as comfortable silence changed to heavy awaiting for his next move.

"Well... is it nice?"

"I don't know. It's... different?"

"I've noticed."

To be in his hold felt warm. Deceitfully welcoming. Opportunist knew better than to trust it, to fall into this fragile giveaway, but the warmth was there, a temporary haven, and he resolved to exploit it while he could. A sudden surge of confidence washed over him. He straightened slightly, his voice regaining its characteristic edge. "And what's your goal, huh? You're quite a go-getter yourself. And so much time into little old me."

"I'm... not sure." His hoarse voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability that the opportunist found both intriguing and unsettling.

"Must be fun to dissect me like some sort of experiment, right?"

He glanced away, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "I'm not 'dissecting.'."

"C'mon, don't play coy. I'm not even against it, as long as it keeps you entertained. But it's kind of pointless, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Opportunist sighed, a complacent weariness in his tone. "You think there are facades to people that you can brush off like dust, revealing some good core underneath. But there isn't such a thing as a core. We're all just a whirlwind of words trying to avoid being trapped." He bared his teeth, grinning and flinging away his hands. "What did you expect to hear? 'Ohhh, you're so right! Figured me all out! I am so thankful—now you can fix me!'"

He immediately winced at the caricature but didn't answer.

"What, wrong guess? Well, damn it. No hope for me, it seems. What do you even want then?"

Skeptic narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask that?"

"Oh no-no, let's talk without questions on questions, shall we? All your 'What do you think? What do you really think? What do you really, really, really think?' I'm sick of your games. If there is a right answer, I fail to guess it, and you keep asking again and again and..." He stumbled, feeling how the line of the dialogue was heading not where he wanted it to. "I mean, I don't know what you want. I don’t know what to show you anymore. Do you even want anything?”

"Why would you try so hard for me?"

"Because we're a team," he drawled it out as something self-explanatory. "That's how collaborations work. And I appreciate our shared achievements. I would like it to stay that way."

He let these words sink in, then, with his voice slow and deliberate, began to speak. "I see. You don't want to be alone."

Opportunist recoiled. "I didn't say that. I said that I wanted to stay in my deserved advantageous position, which is given by our cooperation. And every team needs its contribution."

The skeptic studied his expression with a careful, almost clinical observation until his face brightened with realization.

"Got it."

"Got what?"

But he had already turned away, pretending to end the conversation. Opportunist leaned forward, snapping fingers to catch his attention.

"Hey, you better finish it."

A knowing smile played on the skeptic's lips. "You're scared I'll leave you because you're not as useful to me as before."

Opportunist froze. He didn't even know if it was the truth, but the nagging feeling in his throat gave him a clue. Still, he clearly wanted to see Skeptic’s reaction to his own discovery first before answering, but he seemed to express nothing but satisfaction with solving the puzzle.

"It all checks out. That's why you've been hanging around so much lately, looking worried, talking strangely... That's not a good reason for stress, though. I'm not going to."

The skeptic's smile, as he offered his hands, felt both disarming and strangely inviting. Perhaps without conscious thought, the opportunist reached out, accepting the gesture. The pulse in his wrist throbbed a frantic rhythm against the calmness of the skeptic’s steady hand.

"I think it's time I say something reassuring." There still was uncertainty in his gaze despite the seemingly confident appearance. He spoke a little stiffly, as if every word was difficult for him, but still continued to lead his train of thought. "Listen. I make opinions about people based on their actions. You don’t need to sugarcoat your worries. It’s normal that you need some acknowledgment from me... if I understood that correctly.”

“Maybe? Probably. Depends on what you mean.”

“The point is, I think well of you.” The skeptic continued, his voice gaining strength. “Many of your actions were wrong, and I will never defend them. But I can always explain them. Which means they were justified, by your false beliefs at least. And beliefs are not constant. I know you don't like my morals, but you're the one more reason to be sure of them. You're acting out of fear, not out of cruelty. And when you don't depend on false arguments, you don't pose much of a threat. I think you and I are very similar in this—I'm not without sin either. It's not your fault you're troubled, only the consequences of it. And I see that you behave differently.”

The opportunist smirked, a hint of bitterness coloring his expression. “But I'm still letting you down, am I not?”

“Sometimes. But I’m smarter than to go unprepared—shame on me if I won’t be ready for one of your tricks. And I can’t deny I got used to having you on my side. It would take me a long time to recover if you’d leave." He squeezed his hands slightly, showing how important the next words are to him. "You see, I believe it's worth looking through lies if it means finding at least one truth there. And it’s exciting to investigate. To know you more and more. I don’t think you are as bad as people paint you to be. Why would I believe them without checking first? Plus, it seems to me I have some responsibility for you, considering how attached you've become. Betrayal is not my style. As long as you don’t cut ties yourself, you can count on me. Was that the right thing to say?”

The skeptic’s face was lit up—he was clearly proud of the carefully constructed monologue, although a trace of hesitation was felt through the question. The genuine concern he put into this speech couldn’t flatter. It washed over Opportunist with a wave of triumph for making him admit that their anxieties were mutual and, at the same time, a subtle feeling of… acceptance? The reassurance he craved, subtly woven into his confession, settled deep within. He couldn't help but smile back, so he put back his playful demeanor, chasing off newly appeared hopes.

“A bit embarrassing, but in general—yes.”

“Can’t let me have even this one, can you?”

“Nope.”

[flowersandmiel]

And I pray that one day we’ll become more than this (Look at us, we already are) (13035 words) Chapter 7 is up! :D This one is Paranoid-centric and from his own Pov!

Also, chapter 1 & 2 have been edited/slightly rewritten to fit more my perception of the characters which I think is more accurate now than before! :D

Also, here's the summary:

After The Long Quiet and The Shifting Mound’s ascension to Godhood, The Voices wake up on a path in the woods, this time though, many things are different. The woods somehow feel much more welcoming, there is no Narrator to give them any cruel orders, but most importantly, the eleven of them are here, all in different bodies, though clearly shaped after the one of The Long Quiet. Strangely, they can also recall every single loop they've lived and died through. As they arrive to where they think the cabin should be, it isn’t the one they were expecting. It’s a chalet, and they inexplicably know there is no Princess waiting for them inside. Once inside, they hear the voice of the Shifting Mound, presenting their new home to them, and the new mortal lives that come with it. A chance to be more than what they were once shackled to be.

OR, one shots about the Voices after the end of the game, in a new world where they're no longer immortals or in danger.

[neverpathia]

i got bored

so have a little parahero thing i'm spontaneously coming up with on tumblr to pull me out of writer's block

-- -- -- -- --

"Seriously?"

The Paranoid was seriously starting to regret becoming the Long Quiet's resident healer. Not that he'd really had a choice at all, mind you, given how he was the only one that was even half-competent with medicines and the like.

Fortunately, the Hero was one of the better patients. Quite frequent—where did he even find all the time and space to go around adventuring?—but still cooperative enough nonetheless. Besides, ever since the Decider left, they'd had plenty of time together. They were quite close now. He liked it.

If he had one complaint about Hero, it would be...never mind. Paranoid urged himself to focus on the task at hand. Please.

Hero sat upright on the edge of his bed and leaned forward, facing Paranoid and not helping his cause.

"Yeah. I'd like to say otherwise, but..." Hero sighed. "Seriously."

Hero had brought the Cheated with him on his latest Hero-ic expedition. The voice of the Cheated. Of all the voices here, did he really have to bring the most reckless? And the most prone to injury? And the one that took the longest to heal?

Paranoid sat down next to Hero. Hero promptly averted his eyes, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"Great," Paranoid rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smile a little. "So now I can enjoy even more work than usual."

He glanced at the bed next to Hero's, which was occupied by a sorry mass of bandages. A sorry, spiteful, seething mass of bandages that happened to be vaguely Cheated-shaped.

Yeah, the Cheated was definitely not happy.

Hero shrugged. "Sorry, Para."

"Not that this hasn't happened before," muttered Paranoid. "Does he have any common sense at all? Getting hurt this much, I swear Cheated runs on pure spite."

"Para, you run on pure anxiety."

"Yeah, it's true, but at least it's efficient. Meanwhile, you run on pure righteousness..."

"Like a true hero, right?"

"...and then you make horrible decisions. But yes, very heroic of you."

Hero blinked. "They weren't all horrible!"

"Well, okay, you also made a lot of good ones. I can't deny that, so fine."

Hero proceeded to break into the most sunshiny possible expression ever. Paranoid rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore the fact that he felt like he was being melted all warm and fuzzy.

"They weren't all horrible," said Paranoid. "They were just mostly horrible."

Hero laughed, but it faded out when Paranoid abruptly froze in place.

"Para?"

No response.

"Paranoid?"

The other voice began to tremble a little, and there seemed to be something tightening inside him. Fear. Panic.

Hero was on high alert now. "Are you- Are you okay? Is it coming again?"

"Hero." Paranoid buried his face in his hands.

Paranoid released a little nervous laugh into his palms. For some reason, he'd lately developed some habit of mad-laughing when he was extremely scared, but then again, he was always scared. Still, that might not be a good sign.

"Hey." Hero inched closer to Paranoid and put an arm around his shoulders. He tried for a friendly smile. "Don't worry, you'll fix him right up. This wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, I know I'm good at my job, thank you very much—" Paranoid cut off his words, slumped against Hero, and paused for a bit before speaking. "No. It's not about that."

They simply sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, Paranoid's head resting against the strong, carved lines of Hero's neck.

"Are you tired?" When Hero spoke, his tone was kind but cautious, as if he were trying to search for the right words but couldn't tell which ones they were. Still, something small in Paranoid relaxed.

"Yes," he admitted. Soft. Barely a whisper, barely spoken at all.

"Do you...want to say what you're thinking about?"

"I- Okay, what about you? Doesn't it tire you out, having to hear what I have to say all the time again and again and again and again—"

"No." Hero took Paranoid's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Maybe it's not okay, but I care for you. And I want to know. Just tell me, if you want to."

Paranoid laced his fingers between Hero's. His hand was clammy and a little shaky.

"I'm just...Look at Cheated. And you, you put yourself in danger all the time, always doing the right thing, these wounds, what if it happens to you? What if you're injured and I can't bring you back or you hurt so much and I have to do something about it and I can't or-or-or-or-or—"

Before he could say any more, Hero pulled him into a hug.

"I'll be careful. I promise."

[impossiblycyberenthusiast]

Now that chapter 3 is out, I’m going to start promoting To Be Whole Again here;

A classic post-game au, taking place with the voices and vessels after What Happens Next.

You like these designs? This what all of them look like :> more designs incoming too; Happy and Dragon won the poll.

[yourlokalescholar]

Is no one gonna write about the voices developing into their own people after getting their own bodies, helping each other survive and grow into multifaceted individuals? Fine, I’ll do it myself

[murtvets]

decided to kickstart 2025 with going back to writing fanfiction finally :) and why not share it on here

[ace-robot-has-matcha]

I like @itsonlypolite’s voices so I drew them in Smoke and Glass. Unfortunately the voices in the fic proper can’t look this cool for reasons, but it was a fun chance to doodle the coolest voice designs on the internet for myself. I’m getting back on the Smoke and Glass train, so stay tuned! For people who have been waiting for it, thank you. You won’t have to wait much longer.

(Read Smoke and Glass here)

[everestgale]

Hello Skeptic, hello Opportunist, how are you two doing!

So for context, I've wanted to give my voices a slight redesign (or not so slight, looking at you, Skeptic) for quite a while. I sketched a full-ref for Cold, but haven't finished lining it yet, and for a while, he was the only one with an up-to-date design. Next one on the redesign list was going to be Paranoid, and then Hero.

...a-a-and then I read two Skeptunist fics. So guess who got to skip the line and get their new designs now.

These are not 100% final yet, but I wanted to share these now since I will be using this (maybe with some minor tweaks) as their design going forward... and trust me, there will be a lot of Skeptic and a lot of Opportunist in the near future-

Fun fact: Opportunist got his redesign in pretty much a single pass, he was a breeze to draw and figure out! Skeptic on the other hand... well:

...yeah, there was a lot of trial and error with him. Not pictured are at least 15 different iterations that were immediately erased, along with about 5-10 Ibis (mobile) sketches drawn at 5 am. I will talk more about his design once I make a proper ref for him!

So yeah, more art of these two coming soon...

[carabarabonanza]

Fanart of another friends cool Slay The Princess fic, "Like a Moth to a Flame"! It stars his fan princess, a version of the princess that you leave alone in the pitch darkness. Go check out how that pans out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61933978%22%3E

[taking-a-raincheck]

I have 3 Very Important Questions for y'all: out of all the Slay The Princess voices (excluding the Narrator), who would be the best singer, who would like to sing the most, and who would be the one to sing lullabies when someone else couldn't sleep?

No particular reason. Definitely not for a certain STP series I'm way too excited to be planning. Nope.

Edit: thank you so much for all your suggestions, everyone! I loved them (and continue to love them) and I think they'll be very helpful 😉

[toadletthethird]

Contrarian vs math compilation

This might be my favourite part of his character

It's really ironic that he is the only one who has only one personal chapter

He can count to three only to find the third way nobody likes

[flowersandmiel]

I've finally met Hunted during his main chapter The Beast (I'd only met him during The Eye of the Needle and the chapters where they're all here) AND OMG I LOVE HIM SM??

Not judging or anything (/gen), but I'd only seen him be characterized in fics with this sort of "overwhelmed and animalistic anxiety" in fics, instead of what I would describe as a "hypervigilant and quick-thinking survival-driven fear" during the Eye of the Needle. And it just kinda confused me bc like, how could he act so different in Eye of needle compared to the Beast and Den?? But that's the thing, he doesn't, the fic just weren't accurate /nm (i still loved those fics btw /gen)

it just reminds me of this post about Paranoid i reposted not long ago about how fandom tends to stick to one character trait of a character and overly exaggerate it to the point it's almost mischaracterizing said character.

and it also reminds me of another character from another fandom who's a bird-like creature too, and they both get mischaracterized in that similar sort of dehumanizing way?

I'm not sure how to explain but i'll try

Basically, It's just so obvious that the author loves the fact that the character is bird-like, that they do not realise that they're kinda 'feti$hising' them??

And like, i've got nothing about letting a half-human half-animal character lean into their animal instincts, but I find it strange how many people do not realise the way they write it is just not believable at all. You can have a character lean into their bird side without having them be dehumanized and infantilized by the narrative. They're not an animal, they're part animal.

Idk, maybe it's because I grew up being dehumanised and infantilised, but if I was part animal/part human, and that i needed to let myself lean into my instincts, I wouldn't take well being treated by my friends as if I'm only an animal???? Or called 'birdie' or shit like that??? Like, i know i don't like pet names in general, but i can't be the only one who find calling a half bird half human character 'birdie' kinda weird?? I'm sure most mean it in a very sweet way btw, but i always think that if i was a half cat half human, and i was called 'catgirl' or 'kitty', i wouldn't take it well lmao?? even as teasing???

Kinda reminds me of how dehumanized and infantilized disabled people are. Having "animalistic behaviors" does not make one less human. idk how else to say it.

I'm not sure I'm making any sense, i've seen nobody talk about this and it makes me feel kinda lonely ngl x,)

I just needed to ramble a bit about it, it's not an "issue" only related to STP btw, which is why im talking about it actually xP it's weird how many fandoms i've seen this phenomenon in. I know many people only create art for fun and simply do not care about believability, and they have every right to do so, but sometimes i think that some people just genuinely do not think about it because nobody talks about it!! I'm only sharing this in hope that I can make authors self-reflect a bit so they can write "better" :)

Just, remember please. You're writing characters with consciousness. They're not animals, they're not birds, they're not just their instincts, they're not just their wings. Even while being chased, Hunted isn't nothing more than his instincts, he's clever, a quick-thinker, observant, worried, has good reflexes, takes risks, his voice is soft, maybe he'd even be delicate if he wasn't being chased! and many others! He's more than his name, than his title, than his instincts. He's not just a prey, he's a Voice, created to help us survive and out of fear of the Princess.

(btw im not using examples i've seen in fics bc i think it'd be rude af to do that.)(i've still mostly enjoyed the fics i've read that had this problems btw <3, i just couldn't get it out of my head and i hate that i see nobody speaking about it so, here i am ig!)

[neverpathia]

was struck by another sudden burst of inspiration, okay, so have another little scene from my little AU

pristine cut HEA minor spoilers

advy may look ooc at first but I promise I'm trying

----- ----- -----

The Skeptic picked at a scone, prodding its suspiciously rough edges with a fork. "Opportunist sent these over?"

His twin brother, the Smitten, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. How was his plate already empty? Did he have no sense of taste at all?

"Oh, that slimy, slithery wretch may don the visage of a dragon." Smitten lowered the napkin with a dramatic flourish. "Harken! He yet has kindness within that twisted, twisted heart."

Skeptic rose from his seat and fed the rest of his portion to the nearest trashcan. "The scones aren't even good."

"Fie! My own kin deigns to partake in such indignity?"

"Indignity? More like indigni-tea. 'Cause we just had tea, heh heh."

Smitten ignored the excellent joke. "To waste such a meal as this, and belittle a dear confidant nonetheless-"

"'Dear confidant'?" Skeptic raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Come to think of it, what have the two of you been talking about?"

Smitten shot him an exaggerated glare, his cheeks deepening red. "Brother mine, you shall do well to-"

There was a knock on the door.

On second thought, calling it a 'knock' would do it no justice. It was more like someone was violently pounding on the door, each strike more like a punch, every impact crashing on that poor door like a barrage of steel cannonballs.

Skeptic frowned. "Why would someone knock when we have a doorbell? Based on the strength, it's most likely Stubborn, but why?"

Smitten pushed aside his chair with an excessively graceful flick of the wrist. "Allow me to receive our guest."

"Oh, you're allowed alright." Still, Skeptic was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

The Smitten began to sashay over to the door. There was something distinctly queer about the movements, and Skeptic muttered something about a certain someone swinging a certain way. Smitten... the Opportunist, 'dear confidant'... surely not--

But Skeptic didn't get to finish that train of thought. And Smitten never got to open the door himself.

Instead, he scrambled away in an uncharacteristically inelegant fashion as the door tore away from its hinges. He just barely managed to make it to safety as it collapsed onto the wooden entryway tiles, bent and battered.

"Excuse me?" The Skeptic was confused.

"Pardon me?" The Smitten was offended.

Smitten's face immediately smoothed into his signature (self-proclaimed) dashing smile when he saw who the intruder was.

"A Princess!" Smitten was positively beaming. "Why, you are always welcome, please have a seat-"

"What?" Skeptic quickly set the plate he was holding onto the nearest surface. "So you're just going to ignore her very obvious crime of property damage?"

This Princess did not look very pleased.

And, with those muscles, she definitely looked like she was capable of causing even more property damage.

"My fair lady, I extend-"

The Adversary did not let the Smitten complete that sentence. She cut him off with a strong square punch in the stomach. It flung him across the living room before he crashed into a cabinet, sending a ceramic vase of roses tumbling to the ground.

"This," she snarled, "is for her."

Skeptic ran to his twin, shocked. Smitten was reeling and coughing. He leaned against the cabinet, surrounded by pieces of shattered ceramic, panting, gasping. A trickle of blood had begun to make its way down his chin.

"Princess..." Smitten murmured, dazed and mesmerised. "How beautiful, how..."

"Excuse me?" Skeptic repeated to Adversary, as calmly as he could muster. "Miss, what are you-?"

She strode towards the wounded Smitten, offering Skeptic a brief glance. Was that pity? Disappointment?

"Two on one might make it a fairer fight," she said. "Right now it's no fun. But you're not a part of this."

Skeptic tensed, ready to help his brother somehow, but it didn't matter. As she readied the next punch, he tried to intercept the blow, but she simply shoved Skeptic aside.

"What-" Frustration. Confusion. He hated it, he hated it all. "No! You can't do this out of nowhere! Smitten- defend yourself, don't just take it-"

The Skeptic's words were powerless. She repeatedly pummeled Smitten with her fists, striking at face and chest and limb, dealing no lethal blows but maximizing the pain of every hit.

"Do you understand what you did?" Adversary yelled between attacks, seething. "To her?"

That seemed to finally bring Smitten to his senses. "Who?" It came out as but a pained breath. "But...I would...never!"

"So you really don't know!" Adversary raised a hand before firmly clasping it around Smitten's neck. There was a sort of rage in her eyes, and it only blazed ever brighter when he lay there sputtering and choking. He struggled. He shook. But he didn't fight back.

"Stop!" Skeptic didn't know what to do with this situation. He despised not knowing. What could he do? What should he do? "Please. You're hurting him."

"Like he hurt her!"

"He's Smitten! He'd never lay a finger on a girl, let alone hurt one that badly-"

"Okay, then just ask him yourself!"

"How am I supposed to ask him when you're beating him half to death?!"

She paused. And then she released him with a sigh.

"Yeah." She wiped her hands on her tattered skirt. "You know...I really hate beating people up like this. Fine."

She got up.

"I'm still a guest, right?"

Skeptic glared at her. "No."

"Oh. Do you have any energy-drinks? Protein shakes?"

"No. Bugger off."

Skeptic turned to Smitten, his gaze softening in concern. "What's going on, really? What did you do, do you know anything? Do you know this Princess?"

Smitten, too powerless to speak, could only manage a weak shake of his head.

"I'll go get Paranoid later, alright?" Skeptic awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. He looked back at Adversary, who was busy leafing through-

"No checking the drawers," Skeptic said crossly.

She wrinkled her nose. "You guys really have nothing good! Ten whole brands of black coffee? Seriously?"

Skeptic cleared his throat.

"I'll have to ask you a few things, Miss...Eye? Needle?"

"Adversary," she answered.

"Ah." Skeptic nodded. "I thought you looked different. So, who is this 'her' you were talking about?"

When Adversary spoke again, her tone was pure contempt.

"She was his little Damsel. His happily ever after."

[v3nuskae]

I MADE FANFICTION!!!

Erm, hi. I'll be honest, my Slay the Princess fixation died down the last couple days. But! I have one last thing to share. If I could somehow bring myself back to this fandom again, I'll continue it. For now, I present to you my fanfiction based on this AU: The Knight Btw, this is my first time putting my actual writing work out there. I'm confident about my art, but writing is a whole 'nother thing. So, if you guys could, please be gentle. 😓😓 Thanks so much for the likes and the little notes and tags in your reposts. I read a lot of them and it means a lot to me. Maybe I'll be back posting about STP or other fandoms soon.

[cyberfox123]

You have been visited by the one and only Poppy (and his party). Hope no one stalks them while they go through here? ;3

((I need no introduction. Cyber, you and I known each other for years. And I am happy that you are still here, after all this time. Life has had its ups and downs but I am glad you still stuck around me through it all. May you find happiness and may you enjoy our times together, because I certainly did))

Voice of the Paranoid: " Please make her stop 0~0 "